


Maybe We Fell Into This

by PaxDuane



Series: Unrelated Star Wars Drabbles [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Age Difference, Chalactan heritage Jango Fett, Developing Relationship, Family, M/M, Meet the Family, Nonbinary Jango Fett, One Night Stands, Strangers to Lovers, excessive made up words, it's mostly because of embarassment let's be real, only not, so uh this happened, there's probably some weird consent stuff but I can't quantify it, third sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxDuane/pseuds/PaxDuane
Summary: "Half the people in here would try to enslave you," Feemor points out, sipping his drink."Nothing new," Jango says, shrugs. "And really, why do you care?""Nothing new..." Feemor shakes his head. "Just wanted to save you some unnecessary trauma.""For them," Jango says, smiling. "Really, Jetii. Is it that, or do you want to have a good time?"Feemor looks the other over. "You know what...why not."Or, Feemor picks up Jango Fett in a bar. It doesn't work out how anyone expected, and it's probably the best decision he's made in a while.
Relationships: Feemor/Jango Fett
Series: Unrelated Star Wars Drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925734
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54





	Maybe We Fell Into This

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this happened.
> 
> Uh. So Galidraan doesn't happen and Xanatos doesn't fall, that's what comes out of this fic. 
> 
> Also, please imagine Feemor as covered in blue tattoos because Space Pictish, and Jango has tattoos on their arms because I cannot be stopped. They just don't play into the story.

Feemor grins like a fool as he bounces Jango on his dick, enamored by the way the eighteen-year-old gasps and whines with every bounce. The young androgyne’s arms are loosely wrapped around his neck and they keep sending little bursts of _good_ and _more_ in the Force.

Normally, he wouldn’t have picked up someone so young, not on _or_ off a mission, but seeing a newly eighteen Force sensitive prowling that seedy cantina, smugglers and slavers eyes glued to them, made him know he had to do something.

Jango wanted to kark, so he karked them.

But it’s a little different, seeing the androgyne’s face twist in pleasure.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, “So perfect. So good for me, like this.”

Jango squeaks, honest to Force squeaks, when Feemor manages to hit that perfect spot.

Feemor pauses as Jango tries to duck their head down, to hide their face that is managing to actually go a little red despite their dark skin. With one hand, he drags them in to press their forehead against his, sneaking a kiss to their nose. “Cute,” he murmurs, other hand roaming Jango’s back.

Jango huffs. “I’m not--.”

“Aembar,” he adds, his own native language confusing them. He smiles. “In Basic, it roughly translates to…still innocent in some ways, I believe is the best way to phrase it? That kind of cute.”

Jango looks caught between being mortified and complimented.

Feemor pulls them in again to kiss their neck, high up then edging down to their collarbone.

Jango squirms, ticklish, then moans at the way it makes Feemor’s cock shift inside them.

Feemor bounces them again, sending them flailing to steady themself on his shoulders.

“You really like doing that,” Jango manages to gasp out as Feemor sets the pace again.

Feemor grins. “You look perfect.”

Jango dips their head back and just holds on through the ride.

Feemor could make this last all night; wants to, even. Alas, he has one dumbass little brother-padawan. He abruptly stops fucking Jango as his comm beeps.

“No,” Jango says, shaking their head. “Do not.”

“If I don’t answer, he’s going to think I’m dead until I comm back, and then he’ll be pissed at me for weeks,” Feemor groans, tucking his face into Jango’s shoulder.

“A partner?” Jango asks, uncomfortable with the thought.

“No,” Feemor assures them. “Just my little brother.”

Jango boggles at him. “Little brother?”

“My former Master’s current padawan,” he clarifies; most people don't know about Jedi lineages, no matter that Jango could clock him as one from the start. “He’s a combination prodigy and idiot.”

Jango snickers.

“I’ll just answer on voice and tell him I’m busy,” Feemor assures them, kissing their shoulder.

“Alright, then,” Jango sighs, then goes to get off.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Feemor chastises, catching them by the waist and keeping them settled on his cock.

“Really?” Jango asks, panting from the way they’d been grinded back against his cock.

Feemor grins again.

“You’re terrible,” Jango says, but the androgyne settles chest to chest with him while he grabs the comm and answers.

“This better be good, Xan,” Feemor says. “I’m a bit occupied right now.” When Jango glares at him, he bounces them again, making them have to muffle their whine against his shoulder.

“I don’t hear a firefight,” Xanatos says, flighty as always, “So it must not be that important. Turn on the holo, I need your help.”

“No,” Feemor says, raising his eyebrows at Jango.

Jango signs a particularly graphic curse at him.

“Come on, Master and Grandmaster are here and none of us can agree what this rock is. You’re good at that kind of stuff.”

Feemor’s eyes go wide and he purses his lips. “I’m sorry, Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku are there?”

Master Dooku’s cultured drawl comes next. “Apologies for the interruption, Grandpadawan.”

Against his skin, Jango mouths, “What the kriff?”

“But Xanatos and Qui-Gon are insistent,” Dooku finishes.

“Can I just, I don’t know, comm you back later?” Feemor asks, squeezing Jango’s ass and getting a slap to the ear.

“What is the big deal?” Master Qui-Gon asks. “We won’t take up that much of your time. If you didn’t have time you wouldn’t have answered! What are you doing that’s so important?”

Feemor raises an eyebrow at Jango, who catches on with an infuriated “Don’t you fucking dare” in sign. He bounces Jango on his cock again, and the androgyne squeaks again, to his delight.

There’s a pause on the other end.

“Ah,” Master Dooku says. He at least sounds apologetic.

“What?” Master Qui-Gon asks.

Jango gives the comm an exasperated look.

“What are you doing?” Xanatos asks. “What is it?”

Jango squeaks again.

“Feemor,” Master Dooku drawls sharply, “We will comm you back. How long do you need?”

Feemor appraises Jango’s half-annoyed, half-blissed face. “Ten minutes.”

Jango’s eyes go wide.

“Alright, then,” Master Dooku says. The comm blinks as the conversation is cut.

“You utter ass,” Jango hisses at him.

Feemor grins and kisses them. “At least one member of my lineage is cognizant of their surroundings.”

Jango moans as Feemor grinds up into them. “But really?” they pant, “Ten minutes?”

“Do you still want me to come inside you?” he asks. That had been nearly as much a surprise as the androgyne thing—hell that had been how Jango told him about their sex: the lackadaisical “I’m on birth control.”

“Yes,” Jango admits grudgingly, turning their face petulantly when Feemor goes to kiss them again.

“I’ll clean you up after the conversation, then,” he promises, then tilts Jango back and does a good job of testing the room’s alleged soundproofing.

Ten minutes later, Jango is sprawled out across his lap, swathed head to toe in all the room’s blankets as Feemor accepts the holocomm.

Jango glares through the maze of blankets at the holograms of Xanatos, Master Qui-Gon, and Master Dooku.

“You don’t need to stay in the viewfinder,” Feemor tells them, amused, only to get a flurry of nasty sign language and Jango’s face in his thigh. “Hello lineage,” Feemor sighs to the holocomm.

Master Dooku looks resigned to this mess, and as exasperated as Jango. Xanatos looks shellshocked and Master Qui-Gon is…still confused.

How? That man sleeps around more than half the Temple!

“What is it you need my judgement on?” Feemor asks.

“You were having sex?” Xanatos asks in outrage, making realization and embarrassment dawn on Master Qui-Gon’s face.

Jango snakes one hand out of the blankets to flip off the holocomm.

Feemor runs a soothing hand along their side. “What is it you need my judgement on?” he repeats.

“You didn’t have to answer,” Master Qui-Gon reiterates, horrified.

Feemor gives him, or more accurately he gives Xanatos, a doubting look. “The last time I didn’t answer one of Xanatos’s comms, he spent two hours assuming I was dead and needed to be avenged, and when I finally called back, he got so pissed at me for not answering that he broke into my flat and ate all of my food.”

Jango lets out a hoarse laugh.

“What is it you need my judgment on? Last chance before I hang up and go back to what was an extremely good night.”

Xanatos flushes so brightly that the holo manages to pick it up in bright blue.

Master Qui-Gon holds up a rock. “Master Dooku says it’s a milozic, Xanatos says it’s a pumic, but it’s a gallic, isn’t it?”

Feemor sighs and looks at the visible banding. “It’s a milozic from Egilamas, so the bands are made of fireglass, so that’s why Xan thought it was pumic. It’s not gallic in any way and you would know this if you knew what gallic rock actually looks like.”

Jango peers out then quickly corrects him in sign.

“Ah, wait, you’re right, dear. The bands aren’t fireglass, they’re ceeret. Other side of the Vesoo volcano.”

“Alright, that was all,” Dooku drawls, one eyebrow high. “Perhaps you can introduce us to your friend properly, soon.”

Feemor pauses, mind catching up with what he just implied by calling Jango dear. “Ah, oh. If they are interested.”

Jango traces a question mark into his thigh.

“Good _night_ , lineage,” Feemor says, ending the holocomm.

“What was that about?” Jango murmurs, voice down but obviously still a bit raw.

“Oh, I just implied we were seeing each other, by accident.”

Jango struggles out of the blankets to look incredulously at him. “Seriously?”

“I don’t call many people ‘dear,’” he explains, apologetic.

Jango stares at him. “You’re almost a standard decade older than I am.”

“I’m aware of that, yes,” Feemor says, slipping his hands into the cocoon of blankets. “I can come up with an excuse.”

“Your family,” Jango starts.

“Lineage.”

“Lineage,” they correct, unimpressed, “Is strange.”

Feemor smiles and bends down to kiss them. “They are. Now, do you really want to talk more about this or do you want me to clean you up?”

Jango curls into him with the kiss. “Mmm. Maybe another round?”

Feemor strokes their bare skin, delights in their shiver. “Alright then.”

***

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Jango mutters, tucked up against Feemor’s side and swathed in so much wool and silk. If he wasn’t aware they spent most of their time in armor, or in Chalacta’s muggy capital, he’d be a little concerned.

He snickers. “I dealt with meeting Myles, who threatened me three different ways in five minutes then spent the rest of the time being aggrieved that it took a twenty-seven-year-old man just after your eighteenth birthday to get you to stop sleeping around for fun. _And_ I was there making you dinner when Master Mace Windu called to check in on you, resulting in the most passive aggressive debriefing I’ve ever had post-mission in my life.”

Jango pouts at him, getting a kiss for their trouble.

“You can handle my lineage for a brief dinner,” Feemor adds. “You stand up to assholes and idiots nearly every day; you’ll be fine.”

“I’m usually wearing beskar, for that,” they remind him. After a long moment, they murmur, “What if they don’t like me?”

“I already warned you that Master Qui-Gon has no taste and you’ve seen that Xanatos is a little reactionary shit. Master Dooku already feels sorry for you just because you’re meeting those two, and your manners are excellent enough to charm him.” He strokes by the Marks of Illumination on Jango’s forehead. “It’s just anxiety. You’ll be fine.”

Jango huffs and cuddles closer again. Eventually, Master Dooku arrives and Geonosian-lines to their table.

“Of course those two are late,” his grandmaster says, aggrieved. “You must be Jango Fett.” He extends his hand and shakes Jango’s. “I hope you don’t think too lowly of us, considering your first impression of us.”

Jango laughs. “I figured after that, Feemor would be able to put up with just about anything.”

“Unlike Master Qui-Gon, you haven’t washed robes with dish detergent in my presence,” Feemor agrees, grinning.

Xanatos comes in next, smelling vaguely enough of smoke that Master Dooku and Feemor both sigh heavily. He stares at Jango for far too long before finally sitting down. “You’re, like, my age!”

Jango purses their lips and radiates how unimpressed they are.

Master Qui-Gon arrives, lightly singed. “We had some speeder trouble,” he says, and sits.

Feemor squeezes his arm around Jango’s waist. Yeah, they’ll be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Updated to fix Feemor’s age because I’d made him too much older than Xanatos, more than the age gap with he and Jango.


End file.
